


A Thousand Years Comes To This

by princessoftheworlds



Series: It's not a crime to love what you cannot explain [3]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Butterfly Effect, F/M, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly human, Klaus Mikaelson finds himself alone in a city of millions until bubbly and beautiful Caroline Forbes hits him with her car. </p><p>Canonish for TO 3X17.</p><p>Day Two of Spring Klaroline AU Week 2016</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Years Comes To This

They storm his house when he is painting.

Klaus should have expected it, truly. Finn, while a bore and a pit of self-agonizing and hatred for his family, had been their brother, and a thousand years ago, Klaus and his siblings had loved him. 

Then Lucien took one bite from his neck, and it was curtains for their eldest brother. By then, from what Lucien had told Elijah and Freya, it was obvious that the entire family was next, though Lucien wanted to kill Klaus first. But Klaus couldn’t be affected by wolf venom, being part wolf himself, and they were freshly out of White Oak; hence, the Mikaelsons had assumed themselves momentarily safe.

Fools.

Lucien brings with him his army of elder vampires and cast-off witches. Spawn of the most powerful covens, the Nine of the Crescent City, the Bennetts, the Gemini, and others of most of the covens on this doomed planet, they blast their way in.

Despite her power, Freya’s cloaking spells and wards never stood a chance. 

With ease, they toss Kol’s little witch aside first, Kol’s face contorting into his true demon (black veins and razor-sharp fangs, what a pretty face can hide) and snarling under the weight of an immobilization spell as he watches his Davina crumple limply (ragged doll, oh, fragile human) against the stone wall of the Mikaelson Compound.

He and Elijah rush the army, tearing hearts from flimsy skin and snapping necks in heartbeats. Blood paints the floor the pretty crimson that Rebekah preferred during the Prohibition. 

But just merely an arm’s reach away from Lucien, Elijah slumps to the floor, neck bent unnaturally; there is the monotonous buzz of four dozen witches chanting in unison. 

Hayley lies at his feet, dead momentarily.

Lucien stalks over to Klaus who has been forced to his knees and rakes a lone hand through his sire’s dirty-blond curls. Klaus snarls, but he cannot duck away; he has been supernaturally paralyzed from the neck down. “So, Nik. What do you think?” Lucien questions eagerly. He spreads his arms wide, crowing, “Now that you see my exquisite con.”

“The protégé outdoes the master,” Klaus rasps dryly in reply. He is suddenly elated that Freya had spelled Hope and herself away on the first sign of ambush.

“Yes, yes. I think so too.” Lucien taps his chin thoughtfully. “You must think me a fool for this; what will I gain from this hijack on your home? I cannot kill you yet.”

Klaus glares daggers at the dark-haired vampire, struggling under the pressure of the immobilization spell. “Enlighten me.”

“We were no different from each other when we first met a thousand years ago. We were both cast-offs, unwanted, lonely under a sea of a thousand stars. You found a kinship in me; you became my first friend in the twenty-something mortal years I had lived.” Lucien smiled serenely, caressing Klaus’ shoulder tightly. “I thought you and your siblings to be gods, holy and supreme, my salvation.” His face became turbulent, a turmoil of cautious respect and hidden rage storming about his steely eyes. “But you all proved undeserving of that gift.”

“So this is revenge,” Klaus surmised. “You shall rid the world of all the Originals, starting with me.”

“No, Nik. This is replacement. I replace you. Aurora becomes Rebekah. The rest of you and your siblings perish. Though, I have no need to kill the lovely Freya. Perhaps, I’ll keep her around, first and last Mikaelson to survive. She can be an amusement for me before Aurora grows to love me. We all know that that won’t be immediate, though, Nik; you broke Aurora. And in the same way, I’ll break your sister. Call it throwing future dirt on your future grave.” Lucien threaded his fingers between each other, resting his chin on his hands.

Pain is what follows. Pain that he has never felt before; pain that drowns every coherent thought, drives his monster away. 

He remembers feeling his blood boiling.

He remembers his skin lighting on fire that wouldn’t burn him

He remembers his heart surging out of his chest, struggling to pump blood to his undead heart. 

When it is over, he remembers his body slumping to the floor.

He remembers the exhaustion that took over, the strange feeling of emptiness as a thousand years of magic is stripped from his bones from his body and his inner creature locked away once more. 

He remembers the darkness blossoming across his vision until his head droops and he sleeps.

~

Klaus immediately realizes that something has changed when he regains consciousness. 

Everything is dull; his vision is no longer crystal-clear and vivid. There is a vibrancy and vitality missing from his surroundings, almost as if all the color in his life was muted.

His instinct is reaffirmed as he sits up against the mahogany headboard, the ancient bedsprings creaking as he does, and his own shallow breathing echoes loudly in his ears, filtered in between bursts of static. 

His head throbs with merciless vigor he has never experienced before. His body is limp and pliant, slumped against the plump pillows of his bed, and every continuous shifting of his body causes a low ache to explode against his spine, resonating through his bone hollowly.

“Elijah,” Klaus croaks desperately, his own voice the equivalent of nails screeching on a chalkboard to his ears. 

His elder brother appears in the room, Klaus’ feeble eyes unable to comprehend the swift movement of vampire speed. “No, Niklaus!” Elijah orders to the younger man as Klaus attempts to slide to his feet.

Ignoring Elijah’s warning, Klaus stretches his calves out and crumples to the floor as deadweight. His entire body is weak, something foreign to Klaus.

Elijah kneels beside his fallen brother, stroking his hair tenderly. “Niklaus, you have not yet understood, have you?” There is concern shadowed in his eyes, poorly concealing his pity.

Pity. Klaus sneers at his brother’s expression. Pity for Niklaus the abused. “Understood what?” he demands of the Original vampire.

“You are no longer a vampire, nor are you a werewolf. You are human.”

~

Freya explains hurriedly as she packs supplies for Klaus. (You are no longer safe here, she says. You must run, flee as best as you can, unhindered by Hayley or your daughter.)

Lucien had somehow obtained a drop of doppelganger blood containing the vampire Cure. Using a modified version, they stripped the vampirism from Klaus’ bones, a thousand years gone at once. 

“Why can this not be undone?” Klaus questioned his eldest sister insistently, paranoia amok upon his countenance. “What of my werewolf heritage?”

“I have attempted, but the Cure’s composition prevents any healing magic from affecting you. Vampire blood will not work on you, as we have tried whilst you remained unconscious. And your werewolf curse: Suppressed, as Esther had done for nine hundred years. They have tied your curse to,” Freya hesitates, “Hope.”

His eyes steel, his heart hardening. “So I am to not embrace my true nature as long as my daughter lives.”

Kol chimes in from the background, “It is unlikely that you will outlive our niece.”

“Kol is blunt but correct.” Elijah frowns, lips pursuing in disapproval. “You have been given a second chance. You must take it and remain safe. Freya will cover your traces with her magic. We will call upon you when we believe you can come back.”

Klaus packs his thousand years into a bag. Three sets of clothes. Toiletries. All the sketchbooks and charcoal pencils he can fit. Few of the artifacts he has collected over the years, including first editions of Tolstoy and his correspondences with Magellan. A few Dark objects for bartering with witches. Six vials of his siblings’ blood, specially enchanted by Freya to truly heal him.

A thousand years comes to this.

~

A month after settling into his new apartment in urban San Francisco, Klaus plucks a single strand of grey from his sandy curls. 

Upon examining it, he snarls and unintentionally swipes at his shaving razor, slicing his hand open cleanly. (The blood glistens, and Klaus can feel his stomach churn uneasily.)

He rifles through his stash of vampire blood, clutching the last vial in despair, as he comprehends that this is his last link to immortality. 

Klaus sets the vial back into his safe and slams open his first-aid kit, hastily disinfecting and bandaging the wound. His movements are deliberate, slow, clumsy.

He is still getting used to being mortal, being human, being vulnerable.

(Originally, he had expected a sudden onslaught of human emotions, of anger, or despair, of self-hatred and pity. Vampirism amplified humanity.

When no change of heart came, he realized his paranoia, his temper, his cruelty, that was all him. No curse or magic had shaped him into Klaus, the revered Original Hybrid. 

That was simply a part of him.)

He returns his attention to the grey hair, first sign of his body aging in a thousand and twenty-six years. 

He punches the mirror.

He punches the mirror, and the glass shatters, embedding itself into his skin, slicing paper flesh. Blood drips from the mirror and dilutes the water in the sink, the wash of red and the grey hair swirling down the drain.

His hand throbs intensely, blood oozing from small cuts on his knuckles. Sharp, slight, slicing agony.

It’s a different kind of pain, a mind-clearing relief more than discomfort.

Grabbing a half-empty bottle of bourbon from a cabinet in his kitchenette, he slumps on his overstuffed couch and takes a swig. And then two. And then three.

The liquor settles in his body, weighs his bones down, loosens his body, numbs his mind. 

Half a bottle is enough to blur his vision, stagger his walk, numb the notion of mortality in his mind.

His tolerance for alcohol is a fucking joke now.

Klaus latches on to a second bottle and stumbles out of his apartment, barely recalling the need to tug the door shut behind him.

Tripping down three flights of stairs, he slips outside, under the stretch of a thousand stars, each a year of his life.

He leans against a tree and slides to sit at the base of it, drowning his problems at the bottom of a bottle of cheap liquor.

Mikael must be laughing in his grave.

Klaus clutches the bottle to his chest and tilts his head back to rest it against the tree, allowing the darkness to settle around him, blanketing him in misery.

~

He’s drowning as he slips into a memory.

Shoved off a ship by pirates, Klaus sinks, icy water submerging him and washing up and over his head.

He attempts not to breathe, for he has no need to, being dead, but the pressure at his lungs forces his mouth to open, gasping for breath.

Frigid water rushes into his throat and lungs and nose, and he sputters and coughs, unable to clear his precious lungs. Choking, he claws at his throat over and over again, flailing as the water surrounding him bubbles under the violence of his body.

He thrusts his body up successfully, and his head breaks the surface of the ocean. Soaked to the bone, he chokes water out of his lungs and breathes unnecessarily, swallowing painfully the pure, salty air around him.

Another tide rockets over his head furiously, and he is submerged again, panicking vigorously. He drops further and further down.

Darkness encloses him, pressing from every possible corner until he is completely isolated. His body is racked with tremors as more and more freezing water gushes into his mouth, and his jaw locks as his eyes roll back into his head and his body falls thousands of feet under the surface.

He startles awake and lunges to his feet, gasping shallowly, his paranoid gaze scuttling around the room. His surroundings are unfamiliar.

Where is he?

It takes a moment for it to settle in.

He is in his apartment.

He is mortal, he is mortal, he is mortal. 

The moon hangs swollen in the velvety sky, and Klaus feels an urge to roam freely underneath it.

Not because of a tugging in his blood or a longing in his heart.

Simply because he knows that he should. But, even his genuine heritage is sealed, presumably for the rest of his doomed heartbeat of a mortal life.

For the first time in a thousand years, Klaus Mikaelson is truly alone.

~

Although he has enough money in his bank account, and various others, to last three human lifetimes, he needs a purpose. 

When he stumbles upon a quaint art gallery dwarfed by an industrial office complex, he has found one. He works up an informal contract with the owner; for each large canvas painting he presents to the gallery, he will be compensated $600.

Beginning with replicas, he soon churns out an approximate of $2,400 worth of paintings a month.

Klaus soon settles into a routine.

Every Sunday, he purchases an appropriate amount of fresh produce and succumbs to his human cravings with unnecessary baked goods. He may be mortal, but he is not irresponsible enough to let himself die from starvation or health issues. (He has lived through the Middle Ages and had seen enough peasants rot away.)

Six days out of seven, he remains cooped in his shabby apartment and paints until his wrist stiffens and swells up when he attempts to shift it.

On Fridays, Klaus wanders to a nearby shitty bar and squanders his time in equally shitty beer. (On the rare occasion, he fucks willing girls in the alley where the dishwasher tosses the bar’s trash out.)

It is a rather shitty life, 

but now it is the only life he knows.

~

She is driving down the poorly-lit street, gaze sharpened on the directions on her phone as she presses on her accelerator, urging her car on. 

Too busy searching for her exit to the freeway, she does not notice him as he staggers off the sidewalk, tottering across the street.

She tosses her phone to the passenger seat beside her in frustration as she discovers she missed her turn several miles back. Sighing as she prepares to make a U-turn, she glimpses his shadow against the yellowy light of the streetlamps through her peripheral vision. 

She slams her foot on the brake pedal, but it is already too late.

There is a sudden crunch as he hits her beloved Ford Fiesta and his body careens backwards as it thumps against the gravelly road. She shrieks.

Her car skids to an abrupt stop, and she doesn’t even bother to turn the engine, instead grabbing her phone hastily and racing to the body. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” whimpers Caroline Forbes as she attempts to turn the body over, hoping against all hopes that the man isn’t dead.

After ensuring for a pulse (hesitant, weak, and fluttering, but still there) in the cold flesh of his neck, Caroline opens up her flashlight app and shines the weak light on the man’s body, assessing for injuries as best as she can.

There is a thin stream of blood at the edge of his hairline and minor bruises littering his back where she pulls his Henley up (attempting not to trace a finger over his lean and muscled chest), but he seems to have not sustained any grave injuries.

Good.

It would be a crime if she had accidentally killed a man this sinfully gorgeous.

He is not overly-tall, clocking in at about six feet, but still towers over Caroline’s petite, five-foot frame and is fit in a healthy, athletic sort of way. His face is narrow with sharp cheekbones, full lips the color of ripe raspberries, a strong jaw, and tousled dirty-blond curls.

But he has the most dazzling eyes Caroline had ever seen when they open hazily, eyelids blinking groggily and fluttering shut.

Pure crystal azure awash with grey and cerulean and flecked strangely with bits of amber, they appear in constant conflict or turmoil. 

Caroline gazes at them softly for a moment that stretches away slowly before diving for her phone and dialing the nearest hospital, cursing herself for her blatant irresponsibility. 

~

Immediately, he is aware of two things:

A, the soft, rhythmic beeping of machines throughout his surroundings

and 

B, the brain-splitting throbbing in both his lower abdomen and his head.

Klaus groans lowly as he clutches at his forehead and begins to massage his temples, feeling a sharp pinch in his right forearm.

He follows the prickling sensation to the needle of an IV drip embedded in the crook of his elbow and hooked to a now-empty bag. Moving to slide the needle out, he startles, flailing backwards idiotically at his pillow, when a feminine voice calls:

“Don’t pull that out!”

Releasing the IV tube, Klaus slumps against the flimsy support of his pillow and sighs, “Where am I?” He turns in the general direction of the voice and is taken aback. 

She is stunning, no, she is magnificent. Blond curls tumbling about her heart-shaped face, she stands and approaches his bed, cerulean almond-shaped eyes blinking uncertainly. She is clad in a simple flowery top and wool cardigan, but her best feature, her long legs, are encased in painted-on denim. Her pink lips pout adorably as she nibbles on her lower lip with anxiety and concern.

Concern, he realizes, that is directed at him.

This gorgeous stranger is concerned for him, Klaus the former monstrous Original Hybrid. 

The irony is not wasted upon him.

“You are in the hospital,” she replies hesitantly, biting her lip hard enough for it to bleed. 

“Why?” comes his quiet inquiry.

“Someone hit you with their car.” A weighty pause later, she hastily corrects herself, “I hit you with my car.” Her curls quiver around her head as she begins to ramble nervously. “I…I couldn’t just leave you; I hit you because I was driving back from my friend’s home, an-and I’d never used that route before. I was following direction, on, on my phone, that’s not the reason I hit you though. I was distracted, and you just stepped in front of my car, and I, I attempted to stop my car, but it didn’t in time. And so I hit you.” Her incessant chatter breaks off abruptly when she buries her head in her delicate hands, groaning ashamedly. “Oh god, I just felt so immensely guilty. That’s why I brought you to the hospital.” Her lips curve into an uneasy, tentative, yet apparently hopeful grin.

Despite his confusion, Klaus finds himself chuckling along; her smile is so effervescent, and he is reminded of Rebekah (darling Bekah, at a simpler time, frolicking around in a clear creek, splashing cool water in the face of a stony Kol, when they were both new-born babes of a vamp). His smile falters immediately as he recalls his baby sister, and his face returns to its stony countenance.

The blonde notices uneasily. “I’m sorry. I tried to make up for the whole ‘hitting you with my car’ thing.” She whips her head to the side, pouting, desperation evident in her crystal eyes.

For some strange reason, his heart clenches at this strange human’s guilt. “It’s fine, sweetheart,” Klaus drawls smoothly.

Her eyes brighten, and she giggles in relief, the melodious sound dancing throughout the small room. 

And her radiance is so blinding, he is forced to glance away. 

Her face falls again, and the spell is broken. “Shit!” She smacks herself on the forehead. “My name is Caroline. Caroline Forbes.”

Klaus is on the tip of his tongue, but that is not him anymore. Caroline does not know who he is, who he was. “Nik, Nik Mikaelson.”

“Well Nik,” she chirps eagerly. “I hit you with my car and brought you to the hospital. Let me take you to dinner.”

Dazzled by the brilliance of her elation, he is slow to reply. “Usually, I ask the beautiful woman to dinner.”

“Shit,” Caroline swears again. “I’m not being too direct, right.”

“No, ‘s fine.” His answer is slurred as he feels himself being drowsy with a sudden burst of lethargy.

“That’ll be the pain meds kicking in,” she frowns. “I’ll leave you to be. My cell phone number is written on the slip of paper on the table beside you. Text me when you’re released, and we’ll set a date.”

“Of course, love.” Klaus Nik swallows heavily as she beams. “I’ll see you soon.” His body relaxes as he allows his mind to be swept away.

~

Nik finds the scrap of paper by his hospital bed’s side table indeed as Caroline had told him. He tucks it into the pocket of his leather jacket, tugging it tighter over his blood-stained shirt. He has no choice but to wear the clothes he was injured in home.

Funny word, home. 

Six months away from his sisters, from his brothers, from Marcel, from his daughter, and he has already been isolated from them in every way. No communication, no visits.

He truly is the most alone he has ever been.

Nik’s heart swells painfully as he recalls Camille, the brave bartender he had begun to give his heart to. 

One kiss they shared, and she ended up dead. 

She is safer and better off away from him.

Another blonde comes into mind, Caroline. So pure and full of vitality she is.

The candlelight that flickered in Camille and was snuffed out by vampirism is a wildfire in Caroline.

He has a feeling that vampirism will make her blaze, set the world aflame. 

Returning to his apartment and changing into fresher, cleaner clothes, he tosses his old set into the garbage disposal bin. (Blood makes his stomach churn. He cannot stand the sight of it anymore.)

He retrieves the scrap of paper, a cell phone number written upon it in thin loopy script.

Nik texts her:

This is Nik. You hit me with your car.

She replies a few minutes later:

Ouch, don’t remind me. I’m sorry bout that.

It’s fine. I’m still limping.

Haha.

You wanted to take me to dinner.

Yeah. Let me take you on a date tomorrow instead.

A date? A true date. Not just a fast food restaurant drive-thru? Are they truly considered restaurants? The service at one of those places…

Hilarious. I actually love Taco Bell, helps when I’m stressed. And yes, an actual date. In fact, tomorrow. Are you free?

A sad fact you’ll discover about my life, luv. I’m always free.

No friends?

Are you one?  
I owe this to you, I guess. I did hit you with a car.

That makes you my first friend in this godforsaken foggy city.

Ugh, this city. It’s foggy most days but never seems to rain. 

I moved here half a year ago. Still hasn’t grown on me. When shall I meet you tomorrow night?

Come to my apartment in the evening tomorrow. Dress casually. I’ll text you the address.

Please do.

~

There’s a knock on her door as Caroline finishes painting her lips a coral pink. She caps her lipstick tube and sets it on her vanity, assessing herself in the mirror quickly.

Causal for her is her hair in loose waves, a green and blue floral sundress, coral heels, and soft makeup. Caroline runs her hands through her curls to loosen them even more.

Casual for him, she discovers at her door, is a charcoal-grey Henley, jeans, scruffy combat boots, a couple corded necklaces slung around his neck, and messy curls which are even more a turn-on for Caroline. 

Leaning against the doorway, Nik hands Caroline a bouquet of daisies, smirking heavily at her gaping expression. “I’d brought you roses, but I took you for more of a less traditional woman, sweetheart,” he explains with amusement weighing his lilting voice.

Her mouth finally slams shut as she takes a moment to recover her wits. “Wow, flowers!” Caroline snarks sarcastically. “You’re a true gentleman.”

Sensing some genuine sentiment in her speech, he asks in an intrigued tone, “Your other boys don’t bring you flowers?”

“It’s not the type of things guys do nowadays,” Caroline admits truthfully, though she is still slightly bewildered. 

Nik’s mouth quirks up in a strange grin, almost as if he is not used to smiling freely. “You’ll find, my love, that I am a very traditional man whereas I understand you are not.”

“Stop with the pet names!” she bursts. “What are you, a hundred?”

“A thousand.” 

Caroline blinks at Nik slowly, bemused at the sobriety he spoke with. His tone of voice is grave and in no way indicates humor. Clearing her bafflement with a shake of her head, she murmurs “Whatever” under her breath. She shoves Nik out of the doorway and behind her as she locks her door. “Let’s go.” Caroline turns and leads the way down the hall.

~

She takes him to a pub-inspired bar she discovered on a late night drive. It’s not a dive bar, but it’s also not the shitty hipster bars that travel bloggers rave about. It’s a little place, slightly rundown, but homey and perfect for two people who are detached from the city.

They settle into a tattered booth, ordering whiskey for themselves. 

“This place has great burgers,” she mentions offhandedly, wincing as the whiskey burns, though not entirely unpleasantly, her throat. 

Nik surprises her by downing the entire dusty glass in one go, setting it down with a quiet thud. “I’ve spent a great deal of my life relying on hard liquor,” he tells her upon noticing her expression.

“Alcoholic?” she inquires, fiddling with the clasp on her leather purse distractedly. 

“No, love.” He snorts suddenly, running a finger along the rim of his empty glass. “I know control, trust me.” 

Caroline shudders at the way he pronounces control, rolling the r in an almost seductive purr. “So, what brings you to this shitty city of all places?”

“Not a big fan of San Francisco?” Nik teases playfully.

She bursts into laughter unexpectedly. “I hate this place. I want to move away as soon as possible.”

“Why brought you here? If you wish to leave, why haven’t you already?” Nik places his forearms on the table, leaning forward. “What grounds you here?” Sensing her uncertainty, he murmurs sensually, hypnotically, “Tell me, sweetheart.”

As if compelled to answer, Caroline replies, “I moved here three years ago, right after college graduation. My dad wanted me to go into our family business as an entrepreneur. I defied him to work as an assistant at a premier wedding planning agency.” Instinctually, she has shifted closer to Nik until their faces hover mere inches apart. 

“That takes guts,” he comments appreciatively. “To stand up to your father.”

“What about you?” Caroline unconsciously begins to twirl a lock of blonde around her slender finger. She’s staring at his lips, startlingly dark as they are, and waiting for him to make the first move. Her breath hitches in her lungs, and her heart speeds up.

“No matter about me.” Nik shakes his head dismissively, and the spell is broken. “I work as an artist. Not a real job, but it pays the bills.”

“An artist, huh?” She raises one fine, elegant eyebrow. “You’ll fit in fine with the hipster type here.” Caroline concentrates intensely on keeping her face slack as, mentally, she burns with shame for misreading a situation where he in fact was not going to kiss her.

Nik scoffs inelegantly. “Their feeble minds could comprehend true art if it slapped them in the face.”

She laughs loudly, the sound reverberating around the empty pub. Rubbing her stomach as it growled exceedingly, Caroline flags down a waitress. “What do you want?” she hisses to Nik.

“Whatever you’re having, love,” he replies, twiddling his thumb disinterestedly. 

“Two cheeseburgers,” she tells the waitress. When they are once again alone, Caroline comments idly, “I would love to see your work.”

“I can take you to the gallery after we eat,” Nik offers sincerely.

“I would be honored,” Caroline replies playfully.

~

He watches her as she chatters animatedly, blond curls quivering with her every motion.

Nik was wrong.

She isn’t light.

She’s the epitome of sunshine. Bright. Radiant. Beautiful. 

Caroline notices him staring at her, and she frowns, brows knitting in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh? What did you say, sweetheart?” Nik tears himself from his thoughts. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks in concern. “You seemed very distracted.”

“Oh, no. Just thinking, love.” He turns his head at the tap-tap of heels to find the waitress bringing them their orders.

After the waitress sets down their plates and Caroline thanks her politely, she scowls. “Stop with the pet names.”

His lips quirk up into a roguish grin. “Can’t, sweetheart,” he declares smugly. “They’re out of habit.”

Polishing off her burger, she shoots him a mock glare, eyes narrowing, before she doubles over in laughter. “C’mon, sweetheart,” she mocks in a faux British accent as soon as Nik has finished his own burger and throws his dirty napkin down. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Well, sweetheart.” Nik smirks devilishly. “Your accent is rubbish. But I agree. Let me take you to the gallery some other time. Let us enjoy the evening air; it is quite pleasant outside.” He quickly leaves behind two twenties to cover for the cost of the meal plus a tip before Caroline can complain about splitting the bill. 

They exit the pub and stroll down the concrete sidewalk, past small stores and boutiques closed for the night. 

He was right; the night is quite beautiful. The moon is a suspended half-crescent, casting a pale silvery light down, and a warm breeze blows briskly around their ankles, swaying Caroline’s skirt with its motion.

Raising her head to the sky, she giggles as she glances towards the stars. The moon’s light bathes her in a hazy, warm glow, and Caroline twirls under the light, her dress flowing alongside her.

His foolish human heart skips a beat. 

Caroline is so gorgeous, graceful and elegant, under the moon. And he knows immediately that he is caught, enchanted by her unintentional charms. (He’s the diamond, and she has thrown her net and ensnared his heart. He won’t allow himself to be released so easily.)

~

Three weeks later

Hey.

Good afternoon, luv. Is there a particular reason you have chosen to grace me with your wonderful presence?

Nah, just bored. Trapped in a meeting that seems it will never end.

Shouldn’t you be paying attention, sweetheart? What happens if your boss catches you?

I am the highest-ranked employee at this meeting. My boss is not here. The others don’t care what I do as long as I glance up every once in a while and say something like “A splash of orange will balance the red out in the table settings.”

How oddly specific. Now, how may I be of assistance to you, Caroline?

Amuse me.

Pardon me.

Tell me how your day is going. Ya know, you type like an old man.

I am ancient, sweetheart. 

What did we say about the pet names…?

I  
apologize, Caroline. Your birth name is far too beautiful to be used so often.   
Good. Now, what’re you doing?

Painting.

Painting what?

A beautiful blonde who dances under the moon and won’t stop occupying my mind all day.

You wound me… Wait! Really?

Of course. 

No! No, no, no. Did I mention, NO!

Why not, sweetheart?

There are so many better images for you to paint.

But you’re my muse, sweetheart. You’re strong, beautiful, full of light.

Fine, but I better get to see it.

You will, in due time. For now, you must still see my other paintings at the gallery.

Speaking of which, thanks for coffee yesterday. 

Lunch? At my place? I will cook.

Ugh, no! Don’t tempt me, Nik. I’m swamped in work; there’s no way I’m leaving here before six. 

Perhaps another time then.

Yeah. Oops. Meeting’s over. Gotta go.

Goodbye, sweetheart.

~

Caroline bends over a stack of paper, scribbling nonstop to fill out reminders and request forms. She huffs, frustrated, shoving a stubborn lock of golden hair back behind her ear from where it’s falling out of her messy bun. Her tongue is tucked in between her pursed lips as she hums in concentration. Ignoring sudden whispers and indiscrete gossiping by her co-workers, Caroline works on autopilot. 

There are footsteps approaching her, noisy and clacking on the floor. She glances towards them, prepared to rage at whoever dares to interrupt her process.

But, to her bewilderment, the shoes are a man’s, exquisite buttery black Italian leather and delicate stitch work. 

None of her male co-workers own shoes like these or most likely this expensive. 

As her eyes rove over a delicious body, they finally reach the chiseled face on Nik, tell-tale smirk plastered on. 

“Surprise, love,” he crows smugly. 

Caroline is taken aback. “What? How? Huh?” she manages to stutter in between stretches of confusion.

Nik grins whilst he explains. “You couldn’t come to lunch, so I brought lunch to you.” Lifting a plastic bag of white containers, he continues, “I come bearing gifts: Crab linguini and tiramisu.”

“You cooked my favorite cuisine?” she asks, astounded.

“No, love. I actually picked up takeout. I want you to be able to appreciate and savor my cooking another day.” He sets the bags on her desk in the space that she quickly clears.

“At least you brought me food. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me today. But I can’t eat. Work is piling on, and now I’m behind,” Caroline grumbles in complaint.

His brows knit together in concern. “You don’t have food, love? You’re only human; you must keep yourself healthy.”

“Whatever.” She dismisses him with a scornful sneer. “No time.”

“No.” Nik perches on the second chair in her cubicle and pulls her work aside, demanding her attention.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Caroline complains loudly. Upon noticing several heads glance her direction curiously, she quiets down, whispering, “Don’t you have to paint or something?” Directing a meaningful gaze to his clothes (fancier than his usual Henley and jeans: a grey cotton long-sleeve shirt and olive-green coat with military-style buttons and of course those damned shoes), she asks, “What? Were you on a date?”

“Meeting with a potential client at the gallery,” Nik answers good-naturedly. “Now, give me fifteen minutes so we can eat.”

After long minutes of consideration, Caroline eventually snaps, “Fine!” Her lips quirk up into a weak grin when Nik tugs at one of her curls.

Nik smiles victoriously, ripping the bag open and distributing containers around the desk. He hands one to Caroline who beams eagerly at the smell of gourmet pasta.

They sit around her desk, chatting and eating, and the rest of Caroline’s co-workers staring on in jealousy. 

Caroline feels satisfied; there is someone to care about her. 

When Nik digs into the last of the tiramisu, forking some away from Caroline’s plate childishly, there is a faint flutter in her heart, and she blushes.

Nik seems to be the perfect guy: hot, intelligent, loyal, charismatic, and kind. And, oh, so sardonic.

Then why does she feel that there is more to Nik then it seems?

It appears that all her perfect guys, especially if they’re interested in her of all women, come with a major catch.

~

Awake, sweetheart?

Yeah. Can’t sleep?

Of course.

Why?

I’ve been up all-night thinking. Tomorrow’s my birthday.

Oh. That’s amazing. Are you celebrating?

My birthday?

Yeah. I plan a killer-ass party, ya know, being part of an event-planning company.

And invite whom, sweetheart? You, me, and the old man across the hall? I don’t have many friends besides you.

Me neither. You are my closest friend in this damn city, and I’ve known you for less than half the time I’ve been here.

We are both isolated in a sea of millions of humans. 

Eloquently put. 

…

Thank you.

For what?

For bringing me food.

You’re welcome, sweetheart. I was merely concerned about your health.

Thank you. No one had ever really done that much for me outside of my family.

You don’t talk about them much.

Sensitive subject. 

Of course.

I gotta go. Good night.

Good night, Caroline.

~

As Nik rolls to lay on his back, the obtrusive sunlight streams into his face from the large window across the room. He grumbles groggily before trailing his elegant hand over his face to block the light. 

Unsuccessful, he props himself upwards against the headboard with a grunt and slides to his feet, padding to his shabby bathroom.

In the chipped and scratched mirror, he examines himself thoroughly to spot any signs of aging. Nik’s hair is a riotous, sleepy mess, there are dark shadows under his striking blue eyes, and he has clearly grown slightly skinnier. 

It has been ten months  
since he turned human and was forced to flee New Orleans.   
It has been two months since his beloved Bekah’s birthday, the one that was supposed to be her twentieth. Four months ago, Elijah would have turned thirty-two. Kol should have been turning twenty-two in two months; Finn would have been thirty-three in another two months if the bastard Lucien hadn’t killed him.

Henrik was merely months from his sixteenth birthday when he died.

Freya turned twenty-four last months, though she should have been thirty-four. Dahlia’s spell had altered her age indefinitely.

Hope turned four two weeks ago.

Nik Klaus, that is who he is at the present moment. Not Caroline’s Nik but Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid. He is too tied to this day to be anyone else.

It is his birthday, his twenty-seventh to be exact.

Today is the first time he turns a year older in a thousand years.

Klaus glances down to find his hands trembling as he grips the sink with so much force that his knuckles turn white. He scoffs bitterly as anger swells inside of him.

Pathetic, he thinks resentfully. Afraid. Afraid of what? Being mortal?

His eyes meet their reflection in the mirror, shadowed and darkened by miserable emotions. His mouth has curved into a hardened grimace. 

Weak. Pathetic. Bastard.

Strangely enough, the voice in his head transforms into Mikael’s.

Even dead two years, his step-father will not cease haunting and patronizing him.

Weak pathetic bastard. Even as the most powerful creature on this planet, you still remained impulsive and foolish. You were overtaken by a former peasant, a servant. You bring death to everyone you love, including your precious no-longer human bartender. You are nothing, my boy. Nothing but an insignificant, undesirable bastard with diluted blood flowing through your muddy veins. Yet still you tote the honorable Mikaelson family name, diluting it with your filthy misdeeds. 

Klaus slams his palms against the stiff marble of the shitty counter, stifling agony shooting up both his arms. “You are dead! You are dead!” Swiftly, he storms out of the bathroom and into his closet, snatching an unopened bottle of bourbon and tearing the seal off. He pours a generous amount down his throat, ignoring the harsh bite of the alcohol as it slides to fill his empty stomach. “You are dead, you ungrateful son of a bitch! I stabbed the White Oak stake through your unloving heart. I watched your miserable body desiccate and turn to ash. I fucking felt your heart stutter to a stop under my hands.” His words come out with a shaky hesitance, and it motivates him to take a larger swig from the bottle, liquid sloshing over the sides as he does so. Klaus feels slightly buzzed, his mind relaxing and body becoming heavy.

No, boy.

The subconscious reply startles him, the words searing themselves into his pitiful brain. 

No, no, no, my boy. You shall never leave me behind. I am a part of you. I am not Mikael. I am you. I am your true self.

As if to prove a point, his subconscious voice becomes Elijah’s, then Rebekah’s, then Freya’s, and even Hayley’s. 

I am you.

“Leave me, damn you!” Klaus roars, undistinguishable emotions thick in his voice, smashing the half-empty bottle to the ground. 

It shatters into several glass pieces, and liquor spills on the floor.

Realizing his mistake, he drops to his knees and attempts to mop the liquor with his hands. The shards slice his palms, scarring them bloody, and the bourbon intensifies the torment with a sting. He curses under his breath and abandons the mess, hobbling to his kitchen and retrieving his second bottle, this of whiskey.

Wiping his crimson-soaked hands down his white cotton shirt, leaving strikes of blood stains, he settles onto his couch, tearing the seal off with his teeth, his hands being too sensitive. 

“Leave me be,” Klaus whispers miserably to the mouth of the bottle.

Then he tips the bottle back, drinking himself into a hollow stupor in a half-heartened attempt to cast his inner demons away.

~

She knocks once on the door, and to her bewilderment, it swings open. “Huh?” she mutters quietly to herself. Striding in, she glances around, calling, “Nik, Nik? Nik? Where are you? It’s your birthday.”

He’s over by the couch, slumbering lightly but wakes up when she places a gentle hand on his shoulder and shakes him. “Caroline?” Nik groans in disorientation, accent distorted by the severe slurring of his words. He gazes with blurry eyes at the tidily-wrapped gift held tightly in Caroline’s grasp.

She leans in to take a quick sniff of his breath and nearly recoils in disgust.

Yup, definitely drunk off his ass.

“What’re ‘ou doin’ here, ‘eet’eart?” he asks, or attempts to.

“Speak properly,” she orders harshly in disgust.

Nik pulls himself together at her tone, his posture becoming defensive as his eyes harden. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?” he asks a little more clearly, an edge to his tone.

“It’s your birthday!” Caroline cries in frustration. “Why are you drunk?”

“Having a life crisis,” he replies incoherently.

“Huh?”

“Take a seat, sweetheart. This will take a while.” Nik pats the seat beside him.

He appears miserable, unlike she has ever seen him before. There is scarce emotion in his eyes, and it scares here.

Caroline is a problem-solver, though, and she will not back down.

But taking one look at Nik unnerves her. This may be one too big of a problem for her to solve.

“Join me,” he repeats, taking a swig from his near-empty bottle.

Caroline shrugs helplessly before taking a seat next to him, their thighs pressed together as she attempts not to shiver.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

~

Caroline tips back one shot, then another and another. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her hair tossing about inelegantly. After refilling her glasses and Nik’s, she drops the bottle to the shitty kitchen table with a sudden clink and inquires, “What’s your deal anyway? With the shitty birthday celebration, ya know?” drunkenly.

He shakes his head in rejection. “Trust me, love. You won’t be wanting to know. Long story, longer than you can ever believe possible.” 

“Try me.” Caroline clinks one of her glasses to his in mock celebration before draining it. Her brain is fuzzy, as it her vision, and her body feels a bit numb, not in a weighed-down way, but in a way of freedom. “I can believe almost anything.”

“No, love. You’re better off.” Nik drains his last shot glass empty and shakes the bottle. Also empty. “Let me get another bottle, and then you will tell me what you are doing in this city. Your life, your family, etcetera.”

When he returns, plunking two bottles on the scarred wooden table, she grabs one and presses its cool surface to her cheek, sighing in relief. “I shouldn’t.”

“Tell me,” he coaxes, almost angelic in looks but with a devilish smile splitting his countenance. “Darling, tell me.”

Caroline giggles, unaware of her own facilities anymore. She is drunk, and she is on her way to getting drunker. That’s all she currently cares for. “You’ve never called me dawling,” she imitates Nik’s accent, stretching darling for longer than necessary.

Nik grimaces. “Your accent truly is a fucking menace. Remind me to teach you one day.”

“Remind me to teach you one day,” Caroline mocks in her falsetto accent. “Why’d you call me darling anyway?”

“Habit from my brother, love.” 

Her mouth gapes immediately. “You have a brother?”

“Several actually,” he murmurs darkly. 

Seems he and his brothers do not get along.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Nik acknowledges. “My brothers burn the heart out of me, but I love them, all my siblings.”

“Huh?” She must have said the last sentence out loud for him to explain about his siblings. “Tell me more!”

“No, love. I believe this is your turn.” His lips are white, pressed tightly together. 

He doesn’t want to spill anymore about his life, she realizes.

“Not much to tell anyway. Grew up in a small town in the South to parents whose ancestors had practically founded the town. You can probably imagine how that was.” She turns to glances at Nik who shrugs nonchalantly.

“When I was twelve, my parents divorced. Because of my dad.”

Nik holds a finger up to interrupt. “Ooh, he didn’t love her; he loved another woman.”

“Close.” Caroline laughs abruptly. “Another man,” she explains. “He was gay.”

”Oh.” Nik appears full invested now, leaning on the edge of his seat to shift closer to Caroline. “Go on.”

She swats the back of his head, unsure if the darkening of his eyes when he receives the blow is due to anger or something else. “Let me tell you. Right, so my parents divorced. I was the aim of the case; which parent would get custody of me?”

“And,” Nik drawls impatiently.

“Surprise, surprise. It was Dad. So we move to Georgia to live with his boyfriend Steven and Steven’s daughters Maxine and Marie. Who were actually not total bitches. Hurrah for that!” Caroline crows cheerfully, her emotions in disastrous shape at the current moment. “I haven’t been to see my mom in eleven years, aside from visits occasionally. Now, you tell me.”

Nik presses his lips together with extreme force again. He truly is determined not to tell her anything.

Too bad. The liquor has already loosened his lips, and she has other ways. 

Caroline tugs the neckline of her low-cut blouse even more in a casual motion that seems unintentional, revealing a large amount of chest.

Immediately and predictably (Nik may have phenomenal control, and she’s certainly looking forward to that in bed eventually, but he is still a man), Nik’s striking eyes are drawn to her cleavage, and he licks his crimson lips out of habit.

Caroline squirms, her cheeks blushing all of a sudden. Seems that her plan had an unwarranted effect on her too.

Still, it works as Nik sighs and drops all his shot glasses to the table. “My life is in fucking pieces now.”

“How?” Her expression is bright-eyed, induced by alcohol though, and curious. 

“I lived in New Orleans, sweetheart. My family, at least I, I fucking ruled the city.”

“What about the mayor?” Caroline asks innocently enough, now truly intrigued. 

“He was useless, that’s what he was,” Nik mutters below his breath, not realizing that Caroline can in fact hear him. “I ruled the city until an enemy who was once a brother to me decided to get revenge for something petty.”

“Wait, what?” Caroline finds herself quickly sobering. “Like life or death revenge?” she squawks in alarm, glancing on in concern until Nik supplies her with more alcohol.

“He came after my family. He killed my older brother Finn. He threatened my sister Freya. He separated me from my daughter Hope.” Nik is growling now, planting his palms on the table with a bang. “He drove me away from the city so that my family would remain safe.”

Icy water washes over Caroline. He has a daughter? Of course he has. “What about your wife?” she inquires nonchalantly.

Nik is bewildered. “Who?”

“Hope’s mother,” Caroline clarifies, bitter edge coming to her voice. She would not want the girl to grow up alone. “Is she fine?” She doesn’t care that he has a daughter; in her eyes, it makes him a thousand times sexier.

“Hayley and I would love to get rid of each other, but we keep her around. She’s a good mother to Hope. Nothing else.” Nik chuckles like it is hilarious. “I despise her on anything other than the rare occasion. Why?” He bumps her with her shoulder. “Jealous?”

Caroline attempts to keep herself from snapping back at him. “Rooted in my past. Personal problems.”

“Me too, love.” He sloshes back another glass; she thinks he’s had enough, especially when he spills this other titbit: “My father was abusive. He ruined me, even before he found out that I wasn’t his biologically.”

“Ouch, tough.” She winces. If she were not drunk, she would be confronting Nik and comforting him. But she is drunk. “I did not really have daddy issues. I have mommy issues. What’s your relationship with your dad now?” 

“I put him down.” Nik’s charmingly roguish grin is gone. There appears to be malice in his eyes one moment, gone the next.

Caroline blinks slowly, sure she is hallucinating. “Wait, what?”

“I put him down,” Nik repeats with more ferocity. “That’s all you need to know.”

Caroline opens her mouth boldly, blurting out, “I’m insecure. I’m always insecure. If I wasn’t drunk, I would probably be sobbing now over that fact you have a daughter.”  
He takes a wild glance at her. “Truly?”

“You never know.” She shrugs causally. “But I was a people-pleaser as a teenager. I was a mess. I slept around. No one ever wanted me.”

At this causal declaration, Nik’s eyes narrow, though his eyes are darkening in lust. Warmth pools from his newly-returned suave grin. “That cannot be true,” he says offhandedly.

“Trust me.” She is leaning closer to Nik until their faces are inches apart. One more shift forward and her lips will brush against his. 

She takes that leap and presses her lips to his. His lips are cold and chapped but still soft and velvety. 

Slowly, he begins to respond to the kiss, and Caroline sighs in relief.

Their kisses are full of tender love but also passion. Nik bites her lip as he strokes her face with his gentle thumb. She tugs at his curls brutally while sucking his bottom lip between hers with care.

Eventually, they make it to his bedroom, clothes abandoned, where they collapse onto the bed, it groaning under their combined weight.

~

As they bask in their post-sex afterglow, limp and pliant and sweaty, Nik watches Caroline falls asleep.

She’s bathed in sunlight, and her body is luminous and perfect, and she looks like the goddess he knows she is. 

Her breasts are uneven, one larger than the other. She has scars littering her body from cheerleading. Her stomach is lightly muscled, though not perfectly slender, is slightly lumpy and soft and curvy.

But she is confident in her body, and she moves with the grace and elegance of a lioness.

He loves that about her.

Staring at her, sunshine hair splayed over his spare pillow, arms dangling off the bed, nose wrinkled in a perpetual sense, it finally hits Nik.

Nik is already in love with her.

Klaus is falling into the pit with Nik.

Sensing his uneven breathing, Caroline turns to her side and faces Nik, azure eyes blinking sleepily as she says earnestly, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

For moments, Nik does not respond, gives no reply. He lies, frozen heart dripping in the heat of the emotion.

“Nik?” Caroline whispers  
uncertainly. She seems to shrink a little into herself.   
Finally, Nik shifts forward, gathering Caroline in his arms, and brushing his lips against hers in a tender and beautiful vow.

~

Interlude: 

Our hero has met his heroine and is in love with her. But, this story has a twist. It’s not over soon. It won’t be. 

~

Four months later

There is a knock at the door, swift and demanding. It echoes around the tiny apartment that both she and Nik share and finally dies down. 

Caroline pushes herself up from planning a wedding for two insistent clients and wraps her work up momentarily to go answer the door.

And what a mistake that turns out to be.

“Hello?” Caroline calls as she tugs the door open. “Anyone there?” Her voice is thick with confusion as she shrugs the knock off as a possible bump on the table. She moves to shut it.

But there is a sudden gust of air in front of the door, knocking it open even wider before it shuts with a loud slam and blowing chunks of blonde hair around her face. Caroline turns with the force of the wind stream, brushing frizzy locks back and tucking them behind her ears.

“Hello there, darling.” 

Suddenly, there is a handsome but cruel-eyed dark-haired man standing inches away from her. 

Caroline recoils backwards, gasping loudly and glancing around in a wild panic. “Who are you?” she demands. “How did you get in here?” Flailing behind her, her hands latch on to the wooden table, and she grips the edge with trembling arms.

“Surprise: your landlord owns the building and still has some reign over this apartment.” The man flares his nostrils as he speaks with a wicked grin. “He invited me in, darling.”

Something about his accent and the use of the word darling niggles something in the back of Caroline’s brain, a conversation about Nik’s family.

“Are you Kol?” Caroline asks quietly. 

“What?” The man is taken aback. “Oh, no, no, darling. I am a thousand times worse than that blood lusting fool.” He chuckles, somehow finding Caroline’s question hilarious, and the sound reverberates around the room while Caroline winces. “So you know the Original family. That makes you a pesky little mortal problem.”

“The what?” Her heart stutters, and her eyes widen as suddenly the man is in front of her, his hand stroking the side of her neck. Caroline’s eyes cannot comprehend how quickly he moved.

The man chooses not to reply, his hand instead drifting gently to caress her throat. Thinking that he will attempt to choke her, Caroline struggles feebly, her strength waning under his murderous stare, until an iron hand comes to clench her other shoulder.

With the hand on her throat, he reaches for her throat until his hand closes around the gold chain of a necklace Caroline’s wearing. The man swears while Caroline hears a hissing sound, and he releases the necklace quickly, though still latching on to Caroline.

She thinks that she sees oozing burns on the man’s palms as his hands travel away from her necklace, but a moment later, there is smooth, tanned skin.

The necklace she is wearing is a gorgeous, hand-blown vial of almost unbreakable glass containing perfume. Wrapped in a coil of silver, it hangs on a fine chain. It was given to Caroline by Nik when they began dating, and she cherished it, wearing it every moment except while bathing. 

“Who are you?” Caroline repeats, her voice falsely steady.

The little quaver in her voice seems to urge him on. “My name is Lucien, darling, and I’m the beast.” With the swiftness and grace of a predator, Lucien lashes out and crushes the silly glass bauble against her collarbone.

Caroline shrieks in agony, pangs of twisted pain, as the glass shatters and little shards embed themselves in her skin, slicing the ivory apart in jagged gashes. Blood, her blood, seeps out, and whilst Caroline shudders, repulsed and still clutching at her collarbone as she attempts shy away and out of the apartment, Lucien’s eyes darken.

They turn red, eyes rushing to be filled with blood as something ripples between his skin.

But Caroline blinks, and his face is normal, his eyes brown but pinning her own azure. As his eyes dilate, she feels herself take a step back as fog separates her mind from her physical body. 

“Tell me, darling. Where is Klaus?” Lucien orders nastily.

Caroline hears herself tell him that she doesn’t know a Klaus.

Lucien growls threateningly, repeating with fervor. “Where is Klaus?” When she still does not react, he chuckles in realization. Caressing her chin tenderly, almost as a lover would, his tone changes, softer and more childish. “Where is Nik?”

“I don’t know,” she utters truthfully. “Nik has been gone all day; he’s probably at the San Francisco Art Gallery.”

His responding questions takes her aback. “Who are you, and what are you to Nik?”

The words leave her lips, but she is not the one saying them. They are stolen from her voice. “My name is Caroline Forbes, and I am Nik’s girlfriend.”

Lucien hums thoughtfully, focusing his gaze on the bloodstained carpet by his expensive leather boots. “Do you love him?”

“With all my heart.”

“Good.” Lucien nods in approval. “I can work with that.” His eyes dilate again, and she falls deeper into his trance. “Now sleep.”

Her body shuts down, crumpling to the floor, as he steps over her limp almost-corpse, dragging her out of the apartment as her body slides on the floor and over shards of glass.

~

Nik is strolling down the sidewalk in quick strides, impatient to hurry home to Caroline. He had finished his errands and could now spend the rest of their slow-moving Saturday in bed with his gorgeous girlfriend. His finger clench around the small box in his pocket, wondering whether she will love the ring.

His phone rings, and immediately, Nik fishes it out of his jacket, sliding the screen to answer, and holds it to his ears, not sparing a dismissive glance to examine the name.

But the cool, calm voice stops him in his tracks.

“Niklaus?”

“Elijah,” Nik states with conflicted interest. “What is it?”

“Niklaus,” Elijah says. “Niklaus, where are you?” The urgency in his older brother’s voice is unnerving; despite not having seen his brother in a year, Nik has never heard him sound so, so panicked. 

“What’s wrong, Elijah?” Nik asks with more urgency.

“Lucien finally found where you were. In the last week, he has been preparing to kill both you and us. Last night, his witches, urged by the Ancestors, kidnapped Kol where he slept in his bed with Davina in St. Anne’s Church.” Elijah’s voice is trembling now. “Today, Rebekah’s coffin went missing.”

“What of Freya?” Nik’s stomach plummets with each word he hears from Elijah, his heart beating rapidly. There is a tightening in his gut as he wrinkles his eyebrows in concern.

“Lucien will not touch her for some bizarre, twisted obsession he has for her. Aurora hates her though, with an intense dispassion, jealous of Freya’s attention from Lucien. She attempted to slaughter her earlier this month but was stopped by Lucien. Freya, I, and some others are working to find a way to bring them down, but I fear I will be next, if he reaches you. I fear for our family.”

Nik’s mouth fills with an acerbic taste. “Where is Lucien? What is going on?”

Freya takes over the phone from Elijah. “Klaus, he is going to your residence first. Get out of there. Leave while you still can,” she pleads, desperation in her wavering voice.

“Caroline,” Nik mutters as he realizes where she is. “Caroline! Lucien will capture her!” He ignores his siblings’ protests. “I will kill that bastard where he stands before he lays a hand on her!”  
But there’s a voice in his ear grounding out “Will you?” as he registers a pinch in his neck, his vision blurring, and tumbles to the ground, Elijah’s voice still spilling from the speaker. 

~

When Klaus comes to, he is strung up by his wrists, chained to the wall with links of iron. He struggles momentarily before realizing that it is pointless: he is mortal, and these chains are therefore unbreakable with his delicate human strength.

Instead, Klaus resigns himself to propping himself against the wall and surveying his surroundings hopefully for Caroline. 

He is in a large, dank mausoleum, one that he recognizes from New Orleans. (Seems he ended back in the city either way.) There are sparse lamps swinging from the stone ceiling to fully illuminate the musty tomb, forcing his eyes to strain into the darkness.

From the sea of black comes a feeble rasp: 

“Niklaus?”

It’s Elijah, voice dry from disuse and most likely lack of blood.

“Elijah? Why are we back in New Orleans?” Klaus questions tiredly.

Immediately, there are two more adjoining voices. 

“Nik?” a quiet and yet incredibly hopeful Rebekah asks.

“Brother?” Kol sounds bitter and harsh. “If you are here, what hope is there left?”

“Huhs, Kol,” Elijah tells him with about as much authority as he can muster, but it is enough. 

Rebekah begins to sob, her soft sniffles shattering Klaus’ heart even more. He can never see his delicate sister cry. “I woke up,” she blubbers gently. “Someone had pulled the dagger out, and I woke up here, to find Kol alive. Then Kol tells me that Finn was revived and killed in days, and you’re human.” There are probably tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, Klaus imagines. “This is the end, isn’t it?”

No, dear Bekah, he aches to tell her, but there is the sound of stone shifting, and the dim lights flicker as the mausoleum flares with brightness.

Klaus can see his family chained across from him clearly. 

The image is disheartening enough. Elijah, bloody torn suit and hair askew. Kol, silent and stony pillar. Rebekah, his strong devilish sister, crumpled tiny and birdlike into Elijah.

“Actually, childish Rebekah,” Aurora says patronizingly, striding in with her head held high. “It is.” She fixes Klaus with a disinterested stare, though her ocean eyes hold a spark of something hopeful. “It is your end. From now, a new reign of vampires will live.” 

“If you kill Rebekah,” rasps Elijah desperately. “You shall die.”

“Dear Elijah, I am no longer sired to baby Bekah, if you have not yet understood that. I am better; we are better.” Aurora wraps an arm around Lucien who appears by her side. 

Behind them spills out their vast army of witches and vampires that has Kol taking in shuddering breaths.

But Klaus’ striking eyes are fixated on her, on Caroline held in Lucien’s grasp. 

“Nik,” Caroline breaths softly, unaware everyone in the tomb can hear her. 

“Caroline,” he calls to her, eyes assessing her to ensure she is unharmed, that the blood on her navy-blue dress is not hers.

“I’m fine,” she answers his unasked question with tenderness. 

“Oh, wonderful. Look at these two lovebirds,” Aurora remarks coldly. Klaus can pinpoint the burning rage, hatred at Caroline for being the object of his desires. 

Lucien laughs fleetingly. “I found you after all, Nik,” he crows with a smug smirk. “You gave me a difficult challenge for a year, but I caught up to you in the end. I will kill you then your siblings. But first, I will kill your love in front of you, allow her blood to spill at your feet.” He turns to Aurora, asking conversationally, “Does she not resemble darling Camille?”

“She does,” Aurora agrees with the smile of a viper. “You seem to have a type, Nik. Beautiful, bold, fiery. Like me, like Camille, and now your Caroline. You ruin them. Your love ruins them.”

“So you chose him?” Caroline raises a judgmental, elegant eyebrow at the redhead. “You must be delusional. Lucien is clearly deranged. Though, examining Exhibit B, you may be crazier than him.”

Klaus wants to scream at Caroline, shake sense into her. Speaking to Aurora like that, Aurora who is so easily unhinged. But Caroline is a goddess, eyes burning azure flames, words set to strike. 

“Shut it, mortal!” Aurora snaps, moving to strike Caroline.

Klaus lunges against his chains in desperation. “Don’t!” he screams when they don’t give way, struggling with all his strength.

But Lucien stops Aurora before she lays a hand on Caroline. “Don’t, Rory,” he tells her. “The mortal desires for you to rip her heart out. Her swift death will ensure that we cannot torture Klaus by torturing her. Clever, little girl.”

Released by Lucien when he reached for Aurora, Caroline ducks behind him, sneaking to Klaus. She kneels down beside him and attempts to undo his chains. 

“Sweetheart,” Klaus sighs, tugging her closer to him. He raises one bound hand to trail it lovingly down the side of Caroline’s heart-shaped, batter face. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replies in confusion. Her beautiful eyes fill with confusion.

When Lucien grabs for Caroline, attempting to backhand her angrily, Klaus shoves Caroline behind him and takes the brunt of the blow. “Still hit like a servant,” he snarls to Lucien as he spits blood to the floor. “That is all you will ever be, inferior to my family.”

Klaus is all talk, having no advantage left over Lucien, Aurora, and their army, and Lucien is unaffected. 

“Pathetic little mortal,” Aurora croons, rolling her thumb over Klaus’ lips as he glares at her with unadulterated rage. “My sweet, sweet love, you must die. For that, I am sorry.” She stoops down and brushes her lips quickly against Klaus’ before he can shy away. Straightening up, she moves to stand behind Lucien. “Kill him,” she orders Lucien.

As Lucien moves to snap Klaus’ neck, Caroline emerges from behind him, clutching something in her palm. 

Glass, Klaus realizes.

With a grunt, she sinks her fist into Lucien’s stomach, glass shard and all, and when he doubles over, she aims a kick to his stomach. 

Klaus wrenches her backwards before Caroline does anything truly stupid.

Aurora remains unconcerned, because in the next moment, Lucien has healed, Caroline gaping in shock and surprise. 

“Ugh,” he groans. “That stung.” He chuckles towards Caroline. “Fiery and beautiful. I believe we’ll keep you around a while after Nik dies.” 

Swiftly, Lucien zooms to the human, and in moments, Klaus finds the vampire towering over him, eyes unable to comprehend Lucien’s speed, while Caroline jolts in bewilderment.

“Remember this, Nik,” Lucien whispers smoothly, his words reverberating clearly in Klaus’ ears. He raises his voice so it echoes more loudly around the room, despite the fact that all the vampires can already hear him.

Lucien sets both hand gently on Klaus’ shoulder, soft palms caressing the former hybrid’s throat tenderly. 

“This is how Klaus Mikaelson dies,” Lucien states triumphantly, wrenching his hands upwards, and watches how the human’s body crumples to the floor, broken neck and dead. 

~

Caroline screams in anguish as Nik’s body crumples backwards into her arms. She cradles him bending over his body, and murmurs softly into his sandy curls. “I love you, I love you,” she sobs, tears flowing quickly down her smooth cheeks.

There are cries of torment from the trio chained up across the mausoleum. The other, stunning blonde, sharing Nik’s striking eyes, crumples in lament, crying, “Nik! No, no, no! Nik!” The two men who resembles Nik in features hold her close, jaws clenched and tears welling.

This is Nik’s family occurs to Caroline. His brothers and his sisters who he apparently has not seen in over a year. And now he’s dead.

Her heart aches with sorrow, with rage, with madness forged deep below the fires of hell. 

With the madness that comes with loss of love. 

“How dare you?” she screeches shrilly at Lucien through a storm of never-ending tears. “You are a cruel, inhuman beast.”

Unaffected by her words, Lucien grins toothily. “Yes, darling. That’s exactly what I am. A beast.” He slings an arm around Aurora who is gazing with tormented eyes at Nik’s body. 

Aurora snaps out of her brief daze. “Brilliant,” she purrs through crimson lips. “Now, we’re the predators. You are the prey,” she brags to Nik’s siblings. 

“Here’s a challenge,” Lucien explains, unable to contain his pride. “If you three can make it outside the gates of Lafayette Cemetery before we stop you, then you are free. No death will come to any of you.”

Caroline sees Nik’s oldest brother and sister exchanges glances, disbelief prominent in their eyes. 

They must understand the chance they have to flee from this vile man. 

Nik’s body is heavy in her lap, his skin chilly against her own. His neck hangs limply, and Caroline holds it as if it is not broken.

“Now,” Lucien declares. 

At the signal of his fluttering hands, the chains preventing the trio from breaking free are cluttering to the ground. Immediately, the siblings disappear before Caroline’s eyes.

She gapes. Where did they go? They could not have moved that quickly?

Then Caroline is being scooped up by the brother wearing a torn suit, Nik’s body being carried by his sister.

They are moving, but at what speed? 

The scenery blurs intangibly to Caroline’s feeble eyes, all three siblings setting the same pace. Wind ruffles Caroline’s frizzy hair, despite the fact that it is a humid summer day. 

“I am Elijah. Kol is to your left, Rebekah to your right. I understand you meant the world to Niklaus,” the man carrying her speaks rapidly to her. 

Thrown of the archaic name Niklaus, Caroline nods furiously, tears dried by the force of their movement. “Yes.”  
“Immediately as we reached the gates, make your escape. Run to until you reach the nearest store and ask for Marcel Gerard.” When Caroline protests, Elijah demands, “Ignore Niklaus’ body. You must keep yourself alive. It is what Nik would want.”

Caroline cannot argue with that.

Within moments, they reach the gates of the cemetery.

The gates are surrounded by an army, men and women scattered in strategic formations, Lucien and Aurora at the front.

There is no time to flee for Caroline is immediately seized by an unknown woman who has impossible strength for someone her size.

She is out of her depth here, surrounded by people with superhuman speed and strength, and though Caroline should have been freaking out, instead, she recalls something from her father, something about her birth town of Mystic Falls.

Something about the superhuman, something about the supernatural.

Rebekah drops Nik’s body gently to the side, tucking him behind a marble tomb and resuming her position next to her brothers, her fists clenching, malice in her eyes that are so like Nik’s.

The siblings disappear again, and seconds later, there is a squelching sound, and a man is crumpled on the ground, bloody heart by his feet.

Caroline gags, her breathing coming shakily as she averts her eyes form the disgusting mess. Her gaze assesses the man’s greying corpse, veins appearing. What the hell?

More men and women drop as more and more hearts are ripped out, as the siblings are seen as an occasional blur.

Caroline cringes but watches in confusion as Aurora and Lucien stand idly by, unconcerned.

But their demeanors are explained when the blurs solidify into Nik’s siblings crying in pain, hands clutching their heads, as legions of men and women stand before them with outstretched arms.

Somehow those men and women are harming Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol.

“Stop!” Caroline yells worriedly. “You’re hurting them.” She struggles in her captor’s iron-hold unsuccessfully. 

No one pays her any attention. She is mortal; therefore, she is expendable.

But Caroline is the daughter of Liz Forbes, sheriff of Mystic Falls, and while she may not have met her mother in years, a lesson taught to her by Liz floats back.

If you are ever held in a threatening grip, make your body pliant. Pretend to be dead, Liz had said through grim lips when the news of a kidnapper at large had reached their town when Caroline was nine.

Now, she does exactly that.

Allowing her body to go limp, she relaxes her breathing for a few moments, as taught to her by her dad. Her captor must be stupider than Caroline thought, because she is dropped unceremonious to the ground in minutes.

Her back aches from the brief yet rough fall, but she lays there for a few moments and plots. She is merely feet away from the nearest witch? and can reach him in minutes.

But she remains unarmed.

Caroline Forbes is a former cheerleader, a blonde who likes pretty dresses and heels. 

Silently, she toes a heel off and shifts it around to clutch the shoe with the stiletto pointed outwards. 

Still no one eyes her cautiously; they are too fixated on Lucien and Aurora boasting gleefully.

Morons.

Never underestimated a woman with revenge on her mind.

Caroline leaps from where she lies on the ground, using her flexibility from ten years of cheerleading and brute strength to knock the warlock to the ground, his concentration disrupted as his portion of the spell weakening. 

She brings her knee up into the back of the second witch with extreme force and watches as the older woman crumples to the ground. Finally, Caroline uses her stiletto to stab it into another witch’s eye. She wants to cringe but keeps going to break a warlock’s arm.

“Let me go!” Caroline screeches as she is wrenched backwards by a man, one of the ones with superhuman strength. She brandishes her heel blindly, unable to hit a mark. 

The spell on Nik’s siblings, though, had already been weakened enough, and they lunge towards the witches and other men and women, slaughtering their way around. 

Aurora is brought down onto her knees by a woman around Caroline’s age chanting in an identifiable language. The redhead is shrieking in agony as the witch, resembling Rebekah and Nik with the same eyes and hair, snaps Aurora’s wrists with magic. 

There are more people  
suddenly, men and women fighting Lucien and Aurora’s army.   
A dark-skinned warlock with a severe expression is magically ripping out hearts while another handsome man with mocha skin is leading a legion of men and women against the other army, breaking necks and hearts falling by their feet.

How quickly Caroline has become accustomed to this violence?

A beautiful teenage girl with dark hair and a proud mouth rushes to Kol, levitating people backwards if they attempt to attack her. A blonde who suspiciously resembles Caroline finds Nik’s body, and her lips quiver with grief as she turns to throw something small and wooden at a horde of people stampeding towards her. 

The item explodes into a cloud of smoke, and the men and women are scattered backwards, knocked unsconsciouc.

There is a gorgeous brunette who-

Caroline gasps, alarmed, as the girl’s face transforms, eyes turning golden and fangs! dropping. There are veins crawling between the brunette’s eyes like spiders. 

The girl launches herself at the other men and women with a hiss. Their faces too have transformed; they possess black eyes filled with blood, unlike the girl’s golden.

Vampires, Caroline realizes with a start. Vampires.

“What to do with you, my dear?” Lucien, suddenly clutching her neck, asks.

“Not kill me,” Caroline snarls in reply, chucking her shoe at his head.

Lucien dodges it, but his face transforms, veins rising from his neck to snake under his eyes, fangs larger than the rest of the vampires, eyes pure red. He rears his head to sink his fangs into Caroline’s tender neck.

“NO!” someone familiar roars as Lucien is knocked backwards. “I will end you where you stand, you bastard.”

Then all hell breaks loose. 

She blacks out for most of the battle.

Caroline’s eyes cannot perceive or her mind cannot picture what exactly went down, but when it is over, there is silence.

And Caroline braves herself to look again. 

In the middle of debris, useless appendages, and gore, there is Nik.

Nik, alive. 

Nik, standing and breathing.

Nik with golden eyes flashing, red and black veins a writhing mess below his eyes, pearly-white gleaming fangs dropping from his beautiful lips.

Nik slathered in crimson, snarling, a monster on display. 

This is not Nik. This is a monster.

There is a storm of turbulent emotions in his cruel cruel cold eyes. Lips in a devilish smirk.

This is not Nik.

The man notices her eyes boring into his skin, and his face becomes human, and there is Nik, striking eyes full of relief, lips curving into a Nik-like smile.

“Caroline,” he calls to her with a soft tone. “Caroline.” 

His allies stare at him in shock, unbelieving eyes watching their exchange with suspicion. The other blonde’s lips pursue into a perpetual frown. 

“Nik!” Caroline reaches a hand towards him.

Nik takes a step to speed to her.

But Caroline feels two hands enclose her neck, and 

they twist. 

And her heart stops mid-beat.

~

“No!” Klaus roars as Lucien snaps his beautiful Caroline’s neck. Klaus, body trembling with uncontrollable rage, moves to attack Lucien, but Freya beats him to it.

“Fuck you, Lucien,” she tells him, Kol-worthy smirk spreading across her lips, and pulls a wicked knife out, tips gleaming in the summer sun.

Lucien’s eyes widen in understanding. “No darling,” he says hastily. “No need for that-”

Freya stabs herself in the heart as Lucien is mid-sentence, crumpling sideways and bleeding out in minutes while Lucien desiccates.

Klaus watches unconcerned for a moment as Elijah lifts their sister’s body in his arms, knowing that she will indeed come back to life. His gaze turns sober as he examines his girlfriend’s body in his arms, Caroline turning lifeless and cold. 

“Klaus.” It is Camille, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How are you alive?”

“Yes, Nik,” Kol agrees seriously. “How are you still alive? The bastard snapped your bloody neck.”

But Klaus is smiling so widely, his heart might split. He has spotted the patch of broken skin at Caroline’s neck, glass still yet embedded there, and he realizes, Everything is fine.

Everything will be alright.

~

Freya runs a hand through her limp hair, newly revived. “I do not know truly how you came back to life, Klaus. I do not know.”

Davina speaks quietly, “It may have been the Ancestors. Only they can perform miracles such as this.”

“Lucien and Aurora were defeated,” Elijah states, “Because Freya took advantage of their link to her blood. Niklaus may have come back to life, but that, in itself, is unexplainable for now.”

Klaus ignores their talk, instead slipping the box out of his pocket. “Freya, my dear. I require you to enchant this ring with a daylight spell.” He snaps the box open to reveal a stunning band of silver set with fragments of lapis lazuli. 

“For who?” Freya question, confusion evident in her eyes. 

“For Caroline,” Klaus replies offhandedly.

“But Klaus,” Camille interrupts in a bitter and condescending tone. “She is dead.” 

He laughs silently to himself. 

Vampirism ruined Camille. He can no longer see the woman that he could have fallen in love with.

Caroline will thrive under vampirism, so strong and so luminous.

“She is in transition. Caroline wore a vial full of the last dredges of vampire blood I possessed. I gave it to her, telling her to crush it if in life-threatening danger. Seems Lucien did that instead. When the glass sliced her skin, Caroline absorbed a few drops of vampire blood, enough for her to come back,” Klaus explains, devious smirk and shadowed eyes reflecting his cunning.

“Do you love her?” Rebekah asks quietly.

“With my life.”

~

Klaus perches in the chair next to his opulent bed, gazing carefully as Caroline as she slumbers serenely.

She will awaken soon. 

She will awaken soon, and she will be better, more powerful.

She will be a queen, his queen, a true goddess. 

And they will rule New Orleans side-by-side, crushing their opponents and taking the city by storm.

It is time.

Caroline startles awake with a shaky sigh and immediately eyes Klaus. “Nik?” she whispers, beautiful eyes full of turmoil.

“Yes, my love. Yes. It is indeed me.” Klaus strokes Caroline’s damp blond hair reassuringly. “I will explain everything. But first, I need you to drink this.”


End file.
